


1995

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-21
Updated: 2008-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Blaise's seventh stepfather died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1995

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and world of Harry Potter are owned by JK Rowling; no infringement is intended and I'm making no money off of this.
> 
> This is a background story for a character in Firebird Ascending, an AU RPG. I'm adding it to my archive here.

I meant to go into the gardens. I hear Mum, quiet and angry, and Jacque-Pierre, speaking in a suave French rumble that does not soothe her. I peek out as she holds her arm out to show Jacque-Pierre. He pales. Her smile mocks him, and no words accompany the flash I see before he falls to the ground. She bends over him as I duck inside.

I go upstairs and pack. I can find my way to the Zabini estate alone. I push only the most essential things into my bag and say farewell to what still sits on my shelves. I am not coming back.

#

I sit outside just after dawn, breakfast already set by the ghosts of Zabini estates. Simon's owl lands and I smile to see it, giving it a treat from my pocket. I have waited two days to hear from him.

And he will be here in one more day. I look at my nails, bitten to the quick, at my clothes, oddly rumpled and stained. I have tried to speak with the ghosts, to make them understand that I live here now, that I need them to do for me as they did when I was a child. They are slow to understand that I am the last Zabini, and this place is mine.

#

Term begins soon, and I need to be in London. Simon will return to Durmstrang, but tonight we sit in the moonlight and talk of all manner of things.

"Why didn't you owl Draco?"

"He's loyal." But worse. "His father and my Mum are friends."

Simon tugs me in to lean on his shoulder. "I'm glad you owled me."

Whisper. "I'm glad you came."

It just seems right when he turns to me, finds my mouth with his. I breathe his name and he smiles and it is good that there is no one but ghosts to see what comes next.

#

Simon visits over Hogsmeade weekend. I ask how he left Durmstrang and he laughs and says I don't really want to know. And I don't. It is only important that he is here, and we can do more than send wistful owls across the distance.

We plan for the holidays. In Roma, at the Zabini estate. No Mum for me, no grandparents for him. We idly discuss bringing friends -- Draco perhaps, and Simon's friend Erich from Durmstrang. We decide not this year, not now. This is just for our small family. For us.

#

I sit in my room in Roma, the fire taking some chill from the air but not nearly enough. I've sent five owls since I last heard from Simon. Five owls and nothing back save a small box which arrived this morning before I awoke. The ghosts claim Father Christmas stepped through the Floo and out again while I still slept. I look at the box and know it was Simon.

There is a watch inside. Old, with his father's name engraved, and his grandfather's as well, and Simon's below both of them. There is a note, just a scrap torn from a larger paper as if it might once have said more than the four words it holds now.

"I'm sorry. I can't."


End file.
